


Zombies, Monsters & Dead Things.

by roselew



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, M/M, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 01:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2090013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roselew/pseuds/roselew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Movies always portrayed zombie apocalypses in one of two ways - as loud, action-packed thrillers, or slow, quiet treks that always ended in death and sadness. He and Abed had once considered which was more likely; at least he had the answer, now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zombies, Monsters & Dead Things.

**Author's Note:**

> Essentially a story about zombies. 
> 
> I might write more. I might not. It is a mystery.

It was different than Troy expected it to be. 

Movies always portrayed zombie apocalypses in one of two ways - as loud, action-packed thrillers, or slow, quiet treks that always ended in death and sadness. He and Abed had once considered which was more likely; at least he had the answer, now. 

This was neither. It was lonely, and for long stretches of time, there was nothing to do but walk, but it wasn’t exciting, wasn’t empowering, and it definitely wasn’t quiet. The dead were always making noise - whistling air through their lungs, groaning and shrieking, and it offered a constant soundtrack, a low buzz of noise that never stopped, now matter how far from the dead you were. It was an incessant reminder of where he was, all the time, and it exhausted him so much sometimes that he could have screamed with the frustration of it. 

His footsteps crunched across the glass that had exploded outwards from car windows, the tarmac beneath sticky and hot from the sun. He was vulnerable here, and he knew it - dressed in nothing but jeans and a shirt, armed with only a warm bottle of water and a bloody screwdriver. The road was empty, however, and though he kept his weapon ready in his sweaty palm, he didn’t think he would have much need for it. A second set of feet crossed the glass far more quietly than he had, and a moment later, Abed came to walk alongside him. He didn’t look up, didn’t speak, just squinted into the distance, the sun in his eyes.

Abed didn’t do a lot of talking nowadays. Troy wished that he would. 

The day drew on slowly - they made slow progress towards their goal. Before the group’s separation, they’d decided to meet back at the college if things went downhill. That had been months ago, and the walk back to Greendale was a long one - Troy hoped that everybody else was making the journey, too.

They spent the night in an empty house with half of the windows barricaded, and Troy told Abed he thought they could make it back to Greendale in the next day or so. Abed didn’t say anything, but Troy thought he saw him smile. 

~~

In the end, it took three days to get to the meetup point, and the sky was turning dark by the time they stepped foot inside. The halls were silent, and they crept through them just as quietly, hoping they wouldn’t attract the attention of any stray zombies. Troy held his breath as he approached the study room, hoping beyond anything that he’d see the group sat around the table, like the old days. The blinds were drawn, so he cracked open the door and peered in, scared that the room would be empty. 

The room was dark and still, the table turned on its side, blocking the other door. Troy scanned the room, hopelessness trickling into his bloodstream with each passing second. Behind him, Abed sighed, and Troy accepted that they were alone. 

The disappointment was jarring. His eyes stung, vision blurring, and he shouldered the door open to hide his tears.

The rest of the group wasn’t here. Troy entertained the idea that he and Abed were just the first ones to arrive, but something instinctive told him he was wrong. Either everyone else was lost, and had no intention of returning, or-

Troy stopped the thought in its tracks. They’d agreed not to assume the worst unless ‘the worst’ was their only option, and he could force himself to believe in the last shred of hope he had. He turned and caught Abed’s gaze.

"They’ll be here soon." He said, firmly, like it was the truth. Abed’s lips parted as if to reply, but of course, he said nothing. He closed his eyes, shook his head almost imperceivably, hands fisting at his sides and Troy knew he was trying to shut it out - pretend the world wasn’t happening. He wanted, abruptly, to hug him - despite all the sweat and blood and dirt, if only to make himself feel better.

He didn’t. He dumped his backpack, instead, sitting so that he was leaning against the wall. Abed didn’t move, so Troy called to him, softly, and was quietly relieved when he opened his eyes to look at him.

Troy was scared that one day Abed wouldn’t come back; that he would get so lost inside himself that he would never find his way out again. 

He sat besides Troy, legs held loosely against his chest. The tips of his fingers were stained with blood, and some of it flaked away when he took the half-melted chocolate Troy offered him. Food was scarce, but people rarely thought to take candy when they raided stores. It wasn’t ideal, but it stopped them from starving. They ate in silence, and Troy kept his eyes trained on the door; it wasn’t too late for their group to turn up. 

They slept that way, leaning on the wall, propped against each-other’s shoulders. Troy could feel Abed’s ribs whenever his arm rested against his side, and spent a while just feeling him breathe - being sure that he was still there. 

Later, he spoke tentatively, half-hoping Abed was asleep so that he didn’t have to hear the answer. 

"Abed," he said, voice so soft it was almost a whisper. "Do you think they’re okay?"

Abed was silent for so long that Troy thought he was asleep, or just not willing to answer. Either one was likely. Troy looked up at him and saw his eyes shining in the dark.

"No." He said, finally, sounding exactly like somebody who hadn’t spoken in three days: voice fragile, quieter even than Troy’s. "I don’t think they are." 


End file.
